Dead Reckoning (26 page)

But while his moonlighting job left much to be desired in the way of professional satisfaction, he knew it was the chance to see Kate that had him coming back.

He’d been on the job for three nights now, and had managed to fall into a routine that suited him. He put in eight hours at the office, grabbed a sandwich on the way home, changed into jeans, and spent the next two or three hours ogling his attractive boss from the privacy of the impound car Mike had assigned him. Life could be a hell of a lot worse.

“You’re pathetic, Matrone,” he muttered.

He’d seen her twice at the office today. She’d been wearing black. Black slacks. Black turtleneck. Black boots. All that black made him wonder if her underwear was black. If her bra was lacy or plain. If her panties were practical or sexy. She’d looked good enough to eat in a single bite, and by the end of the day he’d been ravenous.

But Frank knew she wasn’t the kind of woman who would be interested in an ex-cop with a bum leg and a prescription drug habit. She was probably sleeping with some Ken-doll lawyer or banker type. Some overeducated pretty boy who bought her expensive jewelry and took her to fancy restaurants. Some rich jackass who gave her polite sex a couple of times a month. If Frank ever got her into his bed, there would be nothing polite about it. . . .

“Don’t go there, partner.”

Headlights cut through the darkness at the end of the street. He watched the car approach, knowing it was her, and his heart bumped hard against his ribs. The BMW swung into the driveway. Simultaneously the garage door went up, and she parked inside.

He’d learned a lot about her in the last three nights. She was a creature of habit and kept to a relatively strict routine. She was up at five-thirty. On the road by seven. At the office by seven-thirty. She had lunch at her desk or with one of her team. She worked late, usually until seven or seven-thirty. From there she drove straight home. No happy hour. No dates. No visitors. Not even an excursion to the mall. Twice, she’d made a stop at a local convalescent home—probably to visit some elderly relative.

So what made her tick?

He’d just turned on the radio to listen to a Mavericks basketball game when her garage door went up. The BMW backed out of the driveway and headed down the street. Once she was out of sight, Frank started the Camry and followed.

She headed south on the North Dallas Tollway. He followed at an unobtrusive distance, always keeping one or two cars between them. South of downtown she exited the tollway and entered a neighborhood most people wouldn’t risk venturing into after dark. The neighborhood was a mix of homes and businesses, most of the windows locked down behind steel bars. She drove through the neighborhood with the speed and adeptness of a woman who was familiar with the area. A woman who knew exactly where she was going. But where the hell was that?

She turned left, then made a quick right onto Bellamy Street. Her brake lights flashed, and she pulled to the curb. The streetlamps had long since been shot out and the neighborhood was very dark. Not wanting her to notice his vehicle, Frank continued past in time to see her get out of the car, look both ways, then continue into a three-story brick building.

His curiosity piqued, he circled the block, killed the lights at the end of Bellamy and parked curbside. What the hell was she doing in a bad part of town this time of night?

“Only one way to find out,” Frank muttered and settled in to watch.

 
Kate hadn’t been planning on seeing Jack Gamble tonight. She’d come home from work tired and distracted with more than enough work to keep her busy until the wee hours. She’d barely walked in the door when her cell phone rang. It had been Jack on the line with news she’d been waiting on for eleven long years. She’d changed in record time, and within minutes she was back in the car and heading south.

She found Jack sitting behind his desk. “What you got for me?” she asked without preamble. “Good news?”

“Depends on what you had planned for one of them men you been looking for,” he drawled.

Her heart was pounding when she lowered herself into the rail-back chair opposite his desk. “Did you get an address?”

“I got a dead man.” He passed her a manila folder. “Signed, sealed, and delivered by Fate.”

Kate’s hand was shaking when she reached for the file. Keenly aware that Jack’s eyes were on her, she opened it and found herself looking at a copy of a State of Arizona death certificate for one Eddie Calhoun. Thirty-eight years old. Cause of death massive trauma from a car accident on Interstate 10.

Beneath the death certificate was a photograph. Even after eleven years, Kate recognized him as the man who’d raped and then beaten Kirsten nearly to death.

At first she didn’t know what to feel. Relief because at least part of her mission was finished. Grief because no matter what she did, Kirsten would never get out of that bed. Regret because Kate had always believed she would be the one to kill Eddie Calhoun.

“I guess that part of it’s over,” she said after a moment.

“All of it can be over if you let it,” Jack said.

Kate raised her gaze to his. She’d never told him what happened, but he was a resourceful man. She was pretty sure he’d done some checking and figured it out. Sometimes she thought she saw the knowledge in his eyes.

Because both she and Kirsten had been sexually assaulted, their names had never been released. Kate’s father had gone to extreme measures to keep their names out of the media. But there was a record of the crimes, and if anyone dug deep enough, they would find something. Jack Gamble, she thought, could find anything if he set his mind to it.

Kate told herself it didn’t matter. Jack Gamble worked for her. He wasn’t her friend. All she wanted from him were the names and addresses. The rest was up to her.

“If you’re not up to getting that second name for me, just say the word,” she said.

“You know I’m up to it.”

“Good, because I want this finished.” Kate rose on legs that weren’t quite steady. “I have to go,” she said and started toward the door.

“Kate,” he called out after her.

Knowing what he was going to say, she didn’t stop until she reached the door.

Jack wheeled his chair back and came around the desk. “The Lord has a way of takin’ care of things for folks. Instead of you doing something you are going to be sorry for, maybe you ought to just let Him handle it.”

She wanted to tell him that the Lord hadn’t been there the night two depraved men had nearly killed her and her sister. Instead, she gave him the coolest smile she could muster. “I never do anything I’ll be sorry for later,” she said and walked out.

Kate was halfway down the steps when the tears came. She wasn’t sure why she was crying. Eddie Calhoun was dead. He was in hell where he belonged. She should be happy because the truth of the matter was she hadn’t wanted to kill him. She didn’t want to kill anyone.

Pushing through the door, she stepped onto the sidewalk. She could hear her sobs echoing off the building. Her boots clicking against the sidewalk. She was midway to her car when the two men stepped out of the alcove. It was too dark for her to get a good look at them, but she could see that they were looking at her. That one of them was smoking a cigarette. It occurred to her that she should be concerned for her safety. Strangely, she wasn’t. The only thing that concerned her was the very real possibility that if anything happened and news got out that a Dallas County ADA was hanging out with a shady private detective, she would have some questions to answer.

She gave the men a wide berth as she walked briskly past them and headed toward her car.

“Hey, baby, whatcha so upset about? You lookin’ for a date?”

Laughter sounded. She didn’t look at them. Didn’t slow down.
Stay the hell away,
she thought.

“I got somethin’ for you, mama. Come get it.”

Kate was ten feet from her car when she heard the shuffle of shoes against concrete. She glanced over her shoulder to see the two men directly behind her. “Stay away from me,” she said.

But the man in a camouflage jacket and shoulder-length dreadlocks darted around her and blocked her path. She tried to go around him, but he quickly stepped in front of her.

“Whas your hurry?” he said.

“Get out of my way,” Kate said in the toughest voice she could muster.

“That ain’t no way to talk to a nice guy like me.” She heard the second man behind her, and at that point Kate knew they weren’t going to leave her alone. Damn. Damn.
Damn!

“What’s a nice lady like you doin’ in this part of town so late?”

Laughing, the second man grabbed his crotch. “Maybe she’s looking for a little bit of dark meat.”

The first man sneered. “You looking for something you can’t find up in North Dallas?”

Kate’s heart had begun to pound. She turned slightly, keeping both men in her direct line of vision. But she was keenly aware that they now stood between her and the car. “You don’t want to do this,” she said.

“Do what?” the second man said. “We jus’ talkin’.”

“How ’bout a little touchy feely, baby?” The first man put his hand on her shoulder.

In the year Kate had been coming here, she’d never run into trouble. She’d always figured most of the troublemakers in this neighborhood were too afraid of Jack Gamble to mess with his clientele. But she was a realist; she’d known this day would come. She’d visualized this moment. She knew what she had to do. She just hadn’t expected to be so damn terrified.

In a single, smooth motion, Kate ducked. At the same time she reached for the mini magnum beneath her jacket. She brought up the tiny gun and pulled back the hammer with her thumb. “Get away from me, or I swear I’ll put a hole in you.”

The breathlessness of her voice surprised her. It sounded like someone else’s voice. Someone terrified and desperate and very capable of carrying out the threat.

“Easy, mama.” The first man raised his hands. “Damn.”

Kate swung around, but she didn’t lower the gun. Shock pelted her when she saw Frank Matrone jogging toward her, his expression taut.

The two men turned and ran. Kate stared at Frank, disbelief barreling through her. She couldn’t believe he was here. What the hell was going on?

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

Censure and anger rang clear and hard in his voice. The next thing she knew Frank’s hand was around her wrist, and he was forcing her to lower the gun. “Jesus Christ.”

She let him take the gun, then watched, numb with shock and the remnants of adrenaline as he eased the hammer back into place. His hands were shaking when he opened the barrel and dropped the five cartridges into his palm.

“Wh-what are you doing here?” she asked.

“Saving your ass, evidently.” None too gently, he took her arm and started toward her car. “What the hell are you doing?”

“Hold it right there, my man.”

Kate froze at the sound of Jack Gamble’s voice. Frank had his hand on her arm. She felt his fingers go rigid at the sound of the slide on Jack’s semiauto .380 being jerked back, dropping a bullet into the chamber.

“Nice and slow,” Jack cooed. “Get your fuckin’ hands off her and drop the piece.”

Frank released her. “Whatever you say.”

“Jack. It’s okay.” Kate turned to see the large African American man in a wheelchair, the .380 trained on Frank, his expression as cold as black ice.

“He’s okay,” she said. “He’s . . . with the DA’s office.”

Jack lowered the .380 a hair, his gaze seeking Kate’s. “Looked like he was roughing you up to me.”

“He wasn’t,” she said.

The black man looked down the street where the other two men had disappeared. “What about those other two jokers?”

“They ran.” Frank was standing a foot away from her with his hands up, his expression part anger, part disbelief. “Would someone mind telling me what the holy hell is going on?”

Shaking his head, Jack holstered the pistol. “Kate, damn it, I knew somethin’ like this would happen sooner or later.”

“Nothing happened,” she said. “I can take care of myself.”

“Sure you can,” Jack growled. “Could have turned out a whole lot worse.”

The two men exchanged looks, and she sensed a silent communication passing between them. One that said they didn’t think she could take care of herself.

Jack withdrew his identification and flashed it at Frank. “Jack Gamble. I’m a licensed private detective.”

Frank’s questioning gaze went from Jack to Kate. “You a client of his or what?”

Because Kate couldn’t answer that without opening a can of worms she didn’t want to get into, she answered with a question of her own. “What are you doing here?”

“Trying not to get shot.” Bending, Frank scooped up the mini magnum. “Is everyone around here packing heat tonight?”

“Everyone’cept those two jackasses who took off down the street.” A grin spread across Jack Gamble’s face when he looked at Kate. “Their eyes just about popped out of their heads when you drew down on ’em.”

Frank didn’t look amused. “You got a concealed weapon permit for this?” He held up the gun by its grip.

“Of course I do.” But her only thought was that she was going to have to do some fast-talking and creative lying to explain why she was here.

She held out her hand for the gun. “I’ll take that.”

Ignoring her, Frank stuffed it into the waistband of his jeans. But his attention was on Jack. “You look familiar. You ever been arrested?”

“Not that I know of.”

“I know you from somewhere,” Frank insisted.

“Sure as hell ain’t from no rap sheet.”

Kate sighed. “He’s an ex-cop.”

Frank’s eyes narrowed. “That true?”

“Retired in ninety-eight,” Jack said. “You?”

“Last year.”